


Conviction

by iamtheprophet_chuck



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Episode: s01e10 Asylum, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, Incest, M/M, Missing Scene, Sibling Incest, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamtheprophet_chuck/pseuds/iamtheprophet_chuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A missing scene from 1.10 Asylum.  Sam said awful, unforgiveable things to Dean and isn't fooled by Dean's unperturbed facade.  Dean, on the other hand, wasn't hearing anything he didn't already know.  Apology sex ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conviction

**Author's Note:**

> Notes at the end.  
> Un-beta'd. All mistakes are my own.  
> Comments are much appreciated :)

Sam came to with a jolt. He was laying face down on cold concrete—really fucking dirty concrete, he noted—and he felt weight resting on the back of his right leg. A sharp pain shot through his head as he twisted around to see Dean pulling himself upright looking both confused and relieved. The initial pounding faded to a dull pulsing ache pulsing in time with his slowing heart rate. It was then that the last 10 minutes came back to him.

He had pulled the trigger. Not once, not twice. Five times. And Dean had let him; _had even handed him the means._

The guilt ripped through Sam’s chest faster than wildfire and he pressed his forehead to the concrete between his forearms, hoping Dean interpreted it only as _Damn my head aches but thank God the ghost is gone._ He took two deep breaths to stave off hyperventilating, and almost missed Dean’s quip.

“You’re not going to try to kill me are you?”

Sam almost couldn't bring himself to force out a laugh, but he huffed out a breath he hoped passed for a snort, and purposefully made eye contact.

“No.”

“Good. Because that would be awkward.”

And then Dean was helping him to his feet, brushing dirt and dust off his shoulders, and packing the weapons into their bag like there wasn't a terrible weight hanging over them. Like Sam hadn't just said everything he knew Dean never wanted to hear. Like Sam hadn't just shown he was capable of killing him given the right provocation.  
His stubbornness got the better of him as they watched the kids take off. He had to make it clear to Dean that the person who said those things wasn't him. 

\----

“…I couldn't control it. But I didn't mean it, any of it.”

Dean stopped himself from turning his head away from Sam. He needed to see his face; to see the honest demeanor falter. Sam wanted to mean what he was saying now, but he could never mean it like he meant what he had said earlier. 

Contrary to Sam’s beliefs, Dean knew who he was. He _was_ John’s perfect little soldier. He _did_ do everything their father asked of them—and then some. He had willingly shed pieces of himself until he was this _thing_. This agent of death. He didn't have the strength or the inclination to deny it. And he refused to let Sam condescend to him, like Sam thought he was unaware of how worthless he was, how pitifully little his sacrifices ultimately accomplished. He had turned out to be just another replaceable cog in the machinery. And he accepted it.

“You didn't, huh?”

He said it casually because it wasn't a question. And there it was. Sam’s mask slipped for only a second before it was replaced by his untemperable earnestness. Sam’s problem-solver mode.

“Do we need to talk about this?”

Dean could only brush him off. He knew Sam felt guilty, but staring down the barrel of a gun and hearing the click of the trigger? Well that had pretty much killed any benevolent spirit Dean may have had. He wanted to tell Sam it was okay, wanted to give his baby brother the reassurance that no irreparable damage had been done to their relationship. But he couldn't. His dismissal was only a lie by omission.

“No. I’m not really in a sharing and caring kinda mood. I just wanna get some sleep.”

\----

Not surprisingly, they drove to the nearest seedy motel without exchanging words. Dean cranked the volume on the stereo and hummed along with the first few tracks of Back in Black, mind genuinely and blissfully clear as he watched the road and feeling nothing but satisfaction at a job well done. Another day alive and in the life.  
Sam, on the other hand, spent the ride thinking. He had a tendency to dwell, which Dean endlessly ridiculed him about. The scene ran through his head over and over again in a never-ending loop. He explored every possible emotion Dean might have felt both when Sam had hurled those undeserved words at him, and when Dean had brushed off his attempted apology.

The conclusion he ultimately arrived at was that Dean was hurt. He could not conceive it otherwise. And what words had broken they could not be used to mend.

\----

Beer in hand, Dean flung a pillow against the headboard and stretched his legs out in front of him, the less-than-ideal motel mattress sagging under his weight. He could see Sam out the corner of his eye pulling toiletries out of his bag, heading to the bathroom to shower, or wash his face, or whatever it was Sam did to decompress from a hunt. The Discovery channel had a documentary about dangerous animals on and Dean took a moment to revel in the idea of facing a danger which was a result of biology and evolution and not unknowable evil. 

Sam came out of the bathroom, and did not hesitate as he walked toward Dean, his entire focus narrowed to his singular goal. He moved with purpose, though without his usual cocky swagger he used when he wanted Dean to remember how much he wanted him.

“Dean,” Sam said, softly, apologetically. He casually swung a leg over Dean’s own and straddled his thighs. Resting there momentarily, he stared into his brother’s eyes. He had to make Dean see himself how he saw him. Push away the pain of the words he had spoken, the memory of his subconscious exposing his most private and terrible thoughts. Dean’s eyes shuttered off, emotion locked carefully away as he gazed back at Sam, pupils dilating and the beautiful green of his eyes shrinking. 

Sam held Dean’s head reverently between his palms, cupping his jaw as he placed a kiss on his lips. Dean didn't respond but he was pliant beneath the searching mouth as Sam swept his tongue into his mouth and against Dean’s tongue. Sam’s hands travelled down to the collar of Dean’s shirt, the long-sleeved plaid shirt already unbuttoned. Sam pushed the fabric over Dean’s shoulders, thick with muscle, and Dean shucked it off and let it fall to the floor. Sam then moved his hands down and under Dean’s t-shirt. He pushed his hands up, feeling Dean’s stomach tense beneath him in an effort to stave off an involuntary laugh. Sam loved that Dean was so sensitive along his sides. It meant that when they fucked, Sam could run his fingers lightly and teasingly along his flank and Dean would writhe under him, unable to escape the relentless tickling sensation. Sam was very fond of overwhelmed Dean. But his ticklishness also meant that when Dean was in control, he required strong, solid touches—Sam grabbing and holding his sides or hips firmly in his grasp as he fucked into him leaving hand-print shaped bruises in his wake.

Sam often wished Dean could see himself through his eyes. He pulled back long enough that they could simultaneously divest their undershirts and immediately sought Dean’s mouth again as soon as it was exposed. Today was time for affirming steady touches, not tentative teases. Sam pulled Dean down lower to lay flat on the bed, and ground his hips down. Dean exhaled at that, and brought his hands to Sam’s ass and pulled until there was no space between their groins, grinding their denim-clad cocks together too harshly. Sam was making helpless noises as he sought to remember what he had intended to accomplish before Dean had, as always, managed to derail him. Before he could find the answer, Dean flipped them over and pushed Sam’s legs wider, granting him more room to press impossibly closer against Sam’s trapped cock.

\----

Dean knew Sam’s intentions from the moment he stepped out of the bathroom. His little brother never was one for subtlety, though Dean wasn't one to talk. He knew Sam wanted to apologize, and that he thought this was the only way Dean would accept it. Sam wasn't wrong. Sometimes the only way to circumvent further misunderstanding was to avoid words altogether. But Dean didn't need an apology from Sam. He had known what Sam thought about him since he was 16 and dropped out of school to work and hunt. He had known it when Sam announced he was leaving for Stanford giving Dean barely 5 days to make peace and let go as a reminder of just how little sway his opinion held. He had known Sam’s darkest thoughts long before he ever said the words aloud. 

Now, he brought their mouths together again, and sought out Sam’s zipper. Seconds later Sam’s cock lay thick and familiar in his palm. Dean slid his thumb over the head and began stroking with long, sure, steady pulls. He knew it wasn't enough to get Sam off, but he reveled in the noises such a simple gesture wrought.  
Sam broke the kiss in an effort to get his brain back online long enough to take some initiative. The overload of sensation had left him pliant and complacent under Dean’s assault. But he refused to remain an inactive participant. He groaned as Dean twisted his wrist, and his hands flew down to unbuckle Dean’s jeans, turnabout being fair play and all. He wanted them to fall apart together.

Dean lifted his hips enough to allow Sam access, lowering his head to Sam’s shoulder and watched as Sam’s unbelievably large hand coaxed Dean’s cock out of his boxers, and began tugging. Sam wasn't in a teasing mood, and he rolled them onto their sides as he sped up his pulls. They were no longer kissing. Instead they pressed their foreheads together, sucking in deep shared-air breaths, as they watched their hands move in tandem. Sam came first—he always came first. Dean teased him that it was because he was younger and less experienced. Sam knew it was because Dean selfishly refused to allow Sam the satisfaction of just once proving he got Dean just as hot and bothered. But Sam diligently continued his pace, twisting his wrist harder, rubbing the head of Dean’s cock relentlessly with every stroke.  
Dean let out a barely-there groan as he shot his load, and Sam breathed out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. Dean only huffed out a laugh at the mess they’d made of themselves and the motel room comforter as he rolled to stand and grab a washcloth from the bathroom. Sam heard the water running and watched Dean casually wipe his hand on the wet cloth, and scrub at his stomach before tossing it to Sam. 

\----

Sam wanted to tell his brother that he had never wanted to leave him alone in the world to be consumed by their father’s obsession. He wanted to swear that he had never thought the things he had said. He could only hope that Dean’s conviction in their relationship (brotherhood; what-have-you) was stronger than the treachery of Sam’s subconscious. But as Dean laid down beside him on the stained bed, twining their fingers together—the only measure of intimacy he allowed outside of sex—Sam knew he was forgiven.

**Author's Note:**

> I really loved how this episode played out--not least of which because upon re-watching, Dean's reaction was to be honestly miffed at Sam's apology. Like he genuinely wasn't phased. There was no hesitation in his replies, no avoidance of eye-contact, no suggestion that Sam's words had secretly wounded him. And while I love angsty/uncertain Dean more than anything, I really wanted to explore the idea that maybe Dean wasn't as conflicted about who he is in the beginning. I would hypothesize in this experiment that his self-doubt comes later, when John is gone and his internal compass no longer points due North.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [castielslittleabomination](http://iamtheprophetchuck.co.vu)


End file.
